by Terri Kaiser
I belong to a writer’s group at our local library. We call ourselves
The Third Story Writers Guild. We are so much more than a critique
group. These people have become my mentors, my cheerleaders, my ‘what
were you thinking here’ people, and my buddies. Lately I’ve come to
realize how important it is in life to have friends of a similar
interest.
Living in a small town, with an hour or two to drive to any sizeable
community, finding like-minded people, I thought, was daunting. Most
people here are salt-of-the-earth types. They work hard, play hard, and
will give you the shirt off their backs. It wasn’t until a local
newspaper contributor, Karen Dums, founded our group, that we’ve come
out to proclaim our love of writing. Every year we add new and
interesting members to fill out our family. Many thanks to Karen and
all her hard work.
Our addition to the community has been very well-received. In fact,
we gathered our courage and performed a reading one evening at a local
bar. I have to admit, I thought we’d be booed out the door. To my
delight, everyone seemed to hang on every word. They clapped and
laughed and sighed in all the right places. It was very rewarding.
My advice - take a chance. Form it, and they will come.
Tuesday, December 3, 2013
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
in pursuit of the small
by Anna Maria Hansen
It was tiny.
A mouse's paw-print in the snow. I almost missed it in pursuit of the big deer I was trying to photograph.
I followed the miniscule tracks through the snowy forest, moving slowly, eyes trained downward. Kneeling in the snow, feeling cold melt into the knees of my jeans, I looked for the imprint of a paw, the shallow scuff of a tail.
Imagining how the forest must look to this creature, whose scurrying prints had led me to its frost-dusted doorstep. Trying to think what it saw, what the cold felt like to it, where it was now, and why it had gone this way.
Later that day, I was perched on my chair, working away at my NaNo-novel-in-the-making. I saw a cluster of words that stood out, like a shallow footprint on my story.
It was tiny.
I kept reading, kept following the footprints through the words. They were subtle, almost invisible. So quietly they had come into my story I hadn't realized they were there. Now, I followed them. The more I followed the track, the deeper, the clearer, it became.
Until I stood on the doorstep of understanding. Of realizing how this tiny footprint was going to drive the entire story. How it had already left its tracks, and all I needed to do was sharpen them, deepen their impression on the surface of my story.
They were the most important part of the story.
They were tiny.
I almost missed them in pursuit of the "bigger story" I was trying to write. In pursuit of what I thought my story was about. Now I know to lean down, to look closer. To stop. Listen.
Search for the tiny tracks. They'll lead you to the doorstep of the story.
It was tiny.
A mouse's paw-print in the snow. I almost missed it in pursuit of the big deer I was trying to photograph.
I followed the miniscule tracks through the snowy forest, moving slowly, eyes trained downward. Kneeling in the snow, feeling cold melt into the knees of my jeans, I looked for the imprint of a paw, the shallow scuff of a tail.
Imagining how the forest must look to this creature, whose scurrying prints had led me to its frost-dusted doorstep. Trying to think what it saw, what the cold felt like to it, where it was now, and why it had gone this way.
Later that day, I was perched on my chair, working away at my NaNo-novel-in-the-making. I saw a cluster of words that stood out, like a shallow footprint on my story.
It was tiny.
I kept reading, kept following the footprints through the words. They were subtle, almost invisible. So quietly they had come into my story I hadn't realized they were there. Now, I followed them. The more I followed the track, the deeper, the clearer, it became.
Until I stood on the doorstep of understanding. Of realizing how this tiny footprint was going to drive the entire story. How it had already left its tracks, and all I needed to do was sharpen them, deepen their impression on the surface of my story.
They were the most important part of the story.
They were tiny.
I almost missed them in pursuit of the "bigger story" I was trying to write. In pursuit of what I thought my story was about. Now I know to lean down, to look closer. To stop. Listen.
Search for the tiny tracks. They'll lead you to the doorstep of the story.
Tuesday, November 19, 2013
Being discovered...sort of
By Karen Dums
When Third Story Writers Guild's email inbox contained a message from a woman who works on projects for NPR (National Public Radio) we were ecstatic little writers. We had been discovered!!! Of course all one need do to "discover" us is to use the proper key word, such as Wisconsin writers, Wisconsin writers groups, to name but two and voila' our website will appear, contact information included. So maybe its not such a big deal.
Or maybe it is.
Not all of our members chose to work on the NPR project, but several of us did. This is something different, something larger than we're used to. Our work will appear on a national multi-media website with the possibility of "hits" by folks all across the country and beyond. Scary? Yes. Worthwhile? Definitely.
Unless its a very personal journal or diary most writers write to gain an audience. We want others to read what we've written. To that end we practice our craft in small ways at first, then put ourselves in another position. We step out of our comfort zone in search of something bigger.
Most writers I know have little faith in their work. Arrogance may belong to the likes of Ernest Hemingway for instance, but the burgeoning author is a mass of nerves, a jangle of whatifwhatifwhatif, certainly lacking in self-esteem. Our own worst critics.
Enter the writers group, or critique group -- whatever name you ascribe to it goes to the heart of the matter with the same end. Feedback. Then it grows from feedback to sharing of information. I went to this conference and have this information to share...There is an author who is willing to visit with us and give us tips on...I found this website, this writing contest, this possibility...
Possibility.
The NPR project is a possibility for all of us. A possibility that someone may notice one of us folks who meet in this big library in this little town. Some of whom have spent years honing a craft they were not quite sure how they were ever going to put to use. State of the Reunion, as the project is called, is a possibility for true discovery. Not because someone typed keywords into Google, but on each individual writer's work. On that writings own merit.
Ego-boosting or ego-blasting we're ready for. If there's one thing I've learned on this writers wroad (I so enjoy doing that) its to grow a thick skin. We may have to undergo setbacks, I refuse to call them failures, on our journey to publication. But we must persist. Look at the 14 of us who comprise Third Story Writers Guild. We're growing. We're evolving. We're spreading our wings. We're reaching for the stars.
May we shine.
When Third Story Writers Guild's email inbox contained a message from a woman who works on projects for NPR (National Public Radio) we were ecstatic little writers. We had been discovered!!! Of course all one need do to "discover" us is to use the proper key word, such as Wisconsin writers, Wisconsin writers groups, to name but two and voila' our website will appear, contact information included. So maybe its not such a big deal.
Or maybe it is.
Not all of our members chose to work on the NPR project, but several of us did. This is something different, something larger than we're used to. Our work will appear on a national multi-media website with the possibility of "hits" by folks all across the country and beyond. Scary? Yes. Worthwhile? Definitely.
Unless its a very personal journal or diary most writers write to gain an audience. We want others to read what we've written. To that end we practice our craft in small ways at first, then put ourselves in another position. We step out of our comfort zone in search of something bigger.
Most writers I know have little faith in their work. Arrogance may belong to the likes of Ernest Hemingway for instance, but the burgeoning author is a mass of nerves, a jangle of whatifwhatifwhatif, certainly lacking in self-esteem. Our own worst critics.
Enter the writers group, or critique group -- whatever name you ascribe to it goes to the heart of the matter with the same end. Feedback. Then it grows from feedback to sharing of information. I went to this conference and have this information to share...There is an author who is willing to visit with us and give us tips on...I found this website, this writing contest, this possibility...
Possibility.
The NPR project is a possibility for all of us. A possibility that someone may notice one of us folks who meet in this big library in this little town. Some of whom have spent years honing a craft they were not quite sure how they were ever going to put to use. State of the Reunion, as the project is called, is a possibility for true discovery. Not because someone typed keywords into Google, but on each individual writer's work. On that writings own merit.
Ego-boosting or ego-blasting we're ready for. If there's one thing I've learned on this writers wroad (I so enjoy doing that) its to grow a thick skin. We may have to undergo setbacks, I refuse to call them failures, on our journey to publication. But we must persist. Look at the 14 of us who comprise Third Story Writers Guild. We're growing. We're evolving. We're spreading our wings. We're reaching for the stars.
May we shine.
Monday, November 11, 2013
Tickling the funny bone
By Karen Dums
This evening's group brought an interesting mix of discussion on humor. Sometimes we authors can get so serious with ourselves and with our writing that we forget to add a little humor to the mix. It often makes the whole piece that much sweeter.
We have several Guild members who do humor very well. And one in particular who has been refraining from using a natural talent for it. She's not quite sure why. I'm not sure either, but I say "follow the muse".
Its been my personal experience that we cannot fight off the muse, no matter how hard we try. It will dog us until we pick up pen and paper or sit down at the keyboard and get what is brewing in our creative consciousness down on paper, a hard drive, a thumb drive or a flash drive -- take your pick. It needs to get out. If it doesn't something dire is bound to happen -- you'll get speeding ticket because you're not concentrating on your driving, the food in your refrigerator will begin to grow green moldy substances because you're not concentrating on your refrigerator maintenance, you'll be unable to get out of the house because you locked the shovel in the trunk of your car which is in the locked garage and there is a three-foot snow drift in front of every entry door. Your head could also implode.
The aforementioned, or even worse, are what awaits if writers attempt to block the wonderfully natural flow of the creative juices. There is no dam strong enough to keep them back. Save your energy. Don't fight it. Let it carry you to beautiful places where you will meet interesting, engaging people. These are known as your sense of place and your characters. They'll do the rest if you let them. And if they're funny -- well, can't we all use a good laugh now and again?
Am I hinting that writing is easy? Definitely not. It takes discipline, courage, fortitude, imagination, attention to detail and lots of paper. But if you've been bitten by the writing bug a simple scratch will not do. The itch will continue. Let it go. Let it be. Let it take you along for the ride. Use your natural fight for more important things, like getting the best buys on Black Friday.
"A man walks into a bar. Can I have a glass of water? he asks the bartender. The bartender grabs the shotgun from the back shelf and fires it. The man says thank you and leaves. What happened?"
The bartender cured his hiccups. Well, maybe that one isn't so funny, but hopefully you get the drift.
Write what you must.
This evening's group brought an interesting mix of discussion on humor. Sometimes we authors can get so serious with ourselves and with our writing that we forget to add a little humor to the mix. It often makes the whole piece that much sweeter.
We have several Guild members who do humor very well. And one in particular who has been refraining from using a natural talent for it. She's not quite sure why. I'm not sure either, but I say "follow the muse".
Its been my personal experience that we cannot fight off the muse, no matter how hard we try. It will dog us until we pick up pen and paper or sit down at the keyboard and get what is brewing in our creative consciousness down on paper, a hard drive, a thumb drive or a flash drive -- take your pick. It needs to get out. If it doesn't something dire is bound to happen -- you'll get speeding ticket because you're not concentrating on your driving, the food in your refrigerator will begin to grow green moldy substances because you're not concentrating on your refrigerator maintenance, you'll be unable to get out of the house because you locked the shovel in the trunk of your car which is in the locked garage and there is a three-foot snow drift in front of every entry door. Your head could also implode.
The aforementioned, or even worse, are what awaits if writers attempt to block the wonderfully natural flow of the creative juices. There is no dam strong enough to keep them back. Save your energy. Don't fight it. Let it carry you to beautiful places where you will meet interesting, engaging people. These are known as your sense of place and your characters. They'll do the rest if you let them. And if they're funny -- well, can't we all use a good laugh now and again?
Am I hinting that writing is easy? Definitely not. It takes discipline, courage, fortitude, imagination, attention to detail and lots of paper. But if you've been bitten by the writing bug a simple scratch will not do. The itch will continue. Let it go. Let it be. Let it take you along for the ride. Use your natural fight for more important things, like getting the best buys on Black Friday.
"A man walks into a bar. Can I have a glass of water? he asks the bartender. The bartender grabs the shotgun from the back shelf and fires it. The man says thank you and leaves. What happened?"
The bartender cured his hiccups. Well, maybe that one isn't so funny, but hopefully you get the drift.
Write what you must.
Monday, November 4, 2013
A funny thing happened on the way to writers guild
by Karen Dums
Monday night. 5:30 p.m. I ride the elevator up to the third floor of the library. Surprisingly, the board room, where Guild meetings are held, is empty and dark. I deflate like an old balloon, turn on the lights and take a seat.
The ideas rolling around inside my head the entire day have disappeared. I'm sitting at the table. Alone. And I've got nothing.
Gradually members trickle in. One. Two. Three. Conversation ensues. Time for me to fulfill my role as facilitator. Take charge. Isn't that part of my job? It is November. NaNoWriMo, NaNo for short, National Novel Writing Month for long. We're all writers, we all know what month it is.
Have you ever had your wisdom teeth pulled?
Have you ever had an abscessed tooth?
Have you ever written about either one?
There is fodder for the pen everywhere. We can take a horrible experience (see above) and make it humorous. Or we can take a humorous experience and make it serious. Depends on the frame of mind.
Tonight my frame was fractured as a broken bone -- the website, this blog, our group and how we can promote ourselves; what author will we get to visit next, where will funding come from; my own work, there's much on my plate, not all to do with writing but I must work that in. I must. Someone pushed a stick into the gerbil's exercise wheel. SCREECH!
"I was pulled out of formation and sent to the dentist's office to have my wisdom teeth pulled." Wow. That's nasty, but good, he survived and could use that experience down the road.
Suddenly I was pulled out of formation. By simple conversation. The result? I relaxed around the table with my fellow writers and achieved a less fragmented mind. Gerbil wheel in motion again, at a much more suitable pace.
Sometimes we need not pick up a pen or attack a keyboard to accomplish a great deal. Thank you to my fellow writers/friends for the renewal and the respite. But now it's time to get back to work. Back to work with a much clearer head.
Monday night. 5:30 p.m. I ride the elevator up to the third floor of the library. Surprisingly, the board room, where Guild meetings are held, is empty and dark. I deflate like an old balloon, turn on the lights and take a seat.
The ideas rolling around inside my head the entire day have disappeared. I'm sitting at the table. Alone. And I've got nothing.
Gradually members trickle in. One. Two. Three. Conversation ensues. Time for me to fulfill my role as facilitator. Take charge. Isn't that part of my job? It is November. NaNoWriMo, NaNo for short, National Novel Writing Month for long. We're all writers, we all know what month it is.
Have you ever had your wisdom teeth pulled?
Have you ever had an abscessed tooth?
Have you ever written about either one?
There is fodder for the pen everywhere. We can take a horrible experience (see above) and make it humorous. Or we can take a humorous experience and make it serious. Depends on the frame of mind.
Tonight my frame was fractured as a broken bone -- the website, this blog, our group and how we can promote ourselves; what author will we get to visit next, where will funding come from; my own work, there's much on my plate, not all to do with writing but I must work that in. I must. Someone pushed a stick into the gerbil's exercise wheel. SCREECH!
"I was pulled out of formation and sent to the dentist's office to have my wisdom teeth pulled." Wow. That's nasty, but good, he survived and could use that experience down the road.
Suddenly I was pulled out of formation. By simple conversation. The result? I relaxed around the table with my fellow writers and achieved a less fragmented mind. Gerbil wheel in motion again, at a much more suitable pace.
Sometimes we need not pick up a pen or attack a keyboard to accomplish a great deal. Thank you to my fellow writers/friends for the renewal and the respite. But now it's time to get back to work. Back to work with a much clearer head.
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
pushing the limits
by Anna Maria Hansen
I'm standing right on the outskirts of insanity, two days away from total madness. I both dread and look forward to it -- a challenge, a battle, a I-can-do-this moment.
50,000 words. 30 days.
NaNoWriMo.
Yikes.
I first participated in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) four years ago. I thought it was crazy. Madness. But my sister (who'd already done it once) pushed me to try... and I (reluctantly) did. To my surprise, I made it. I not only made it -- I enjoyed it. After that, I completed two more NaNos for a total of three successful challenges. Last year was the first time I didn't do NaNo because I was struggling with trying to figure out how to make a living and write at the same time. Not sure I've worked that one out yet... but there's writing to be done and I can't wait around for the math to compute.
It's not easy. It's one-half inch short of impossible. What I like about it, is it's me pushing the limits -- forcing myself to do something hard... and having no one to answer to (or blame) but myself if I fail. And even if I don't make the 50,000 -- that's ok. I will have written. I will have forced myself to create. I will have tried.
My best writing is found right here. On the edge of my comfort zone. On the brink of impossible. Where the speed limit changes and the scenery starts to look different...
I'm standing right on the outskirts of insanity, two days away from total madness. I both dread and look forward to it -- a challenge, a battle, a I-can-do-this moment.
50,000 words. 30 days.
NaNoWriMo.
Yikes.
I first participated in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) four years ago. I thought it was crazy. Madness. But my sister (who'd already done it once) pushed me to try... and I (reluctantly) did. To my surprise, I made it. I not only made it -- I enjoyed it. After that, I completed two more NaNos for a total of three successful challenges. Last year was the first time I didn't do NaNo because I was struggling with trying to figure out how to make a living and write at the same time. Not sure I've worked that one out yet... but there's writing to be done and I can't wait around for the math to compute.
It's not easy. It's one-half inch short of impossible. What I like about it, is it's me pushing the limits -- forcing myself to do something hard... and having no one to answer to (or blame) but myself if I fail. And even if I don't make the 50,000 -- that's ok. I will have written. I will have forced myself to create. I will have tried.
My best writing is found right here. On the edge of my comfort zone. On the brink of impossible. Where the speed limit changes and the scenery starts to look different...
Tuesday, October 22, 2013
in the company of greatness
by Karen Dums
Meeting someone you've only seen on a book jacket or web page is a peculiar feeling. They suddenly become real. Not a list of education, accolades or accomplishments printed on a page. Not a number of books published, a doctorate earned, a face seen on the television screen. A hand shake reveals they are just people. People like you or me.
Last Thursday, Oct. 17, Wisconsin author/historian Jerry Apps paid a visit to Third Story Writers Guild. He then did a presentation in the auditorium of the Park Falls Public Library. He is "real people" indeed.
He stood behind the podium with the ease of one who has been in that position many times, and with humor and honesty told of his days as a farm boy. Of his attendance at one-room school. Shared the story of his affliction with polio, more than 50 years past now, but a time that haunted him in all the years since. It changed the course of life, whether he knew it at the time or not.
With his editor's urging he did what writers do with the leftover feelings from that affliction. He wrote a book about the experience. Told the world of the pain and suffering of a disease with no known prevention, or even an abatement for the pain back in those days. He talked of it freely. Spoke of his fears and the accompanying feelings of failure. Fear of admitting he'd even been stricken with the disease, convinced people would think less of him if they knew. Failure because he was unable to perform the physical tasks his contemporaries could. Tasks expected of him in that time and place. Gave credit to those who helped him most during that time -- his father, who was his "physical therapist" in unique ways; his eighth-grade teacher, who helped him pass the dreaded test that would ensure his entrance into high school; the baseball/coach/basketball coach/forensics coach/drama coach/algebra teacher/geometry teacher (in small schools such as Wild Rose, Wisconsin's circa 1947, staff members wore many hats.) a dragon slain. "Limping Through Life" has been out for several months and we now know that without that dreadful disease, it is most likely Jerry Apps, the author/historian, would not exist. For him a negative became a positive. Wisconsin history is the better for it. Readers have much to enjoy because of it.
No one who has gone through a debilitating time would wish for it so that it could become fodder for the pen. But in so many instances, as in Mr. Apps case, it becomes just that. And we never think that in helping us, it might help others too.
Kudos to the man who overcame his personal fears to become an advocate for polio sufferers. Thank goodness he had the wherewithal to pursue a vocation that helped increase the manner in which he can pursue that advocacy.
It was good to meet him. To see he's just regular people. Regular people like you, like me. We've all suffered through something. What good might we take from it? Make of it? Food for though.
Meeting someone you've only seen on a book jacket or web page is a peculiar feeling. They suddenly become real. Not a list of education, accolades or accomplishments printed on a page. Not a number of books published, a doctorate earned, a face seen on the television screen. A hand shake reveals they are just people. People like you or me.
Last Thursday, Oct. 17, Wisconsin author/historian Jerry Apps paid a visit to Third Story Writers Guild. He then did a presentation in the auditorium of the Park Falls Public Library. He is "real people" indeed.
He stood behind the podium with the ease of one who has been in that position many times, and with humor and honesty told of his days as a farm boy. Of his attendance at one-room school. Shared the story of his affliction with polio, more than 50 years past now, but a time that haunted him in all the years since. It changed the course of life, whether he knew it at the time or not.
With his editor's urging he did what writers do with the leftover feelings from that affliction. He wrote a book about the experience. Told the world of the pain and suffering of a disease with no known prevention, or even an abatement for the pain back in those days. He talked of it freely. Spoke of his fears and the accompanying feelings of failure. Fear of admitting he'd even been stricken with the disease, convinced people would think less of him if they knew. Failure because he was unable to perform the physical tasks his contemporaries could. Tasks expected of him in that time and place. Gave credit to those who helped him most during that time -- his father, who was his "physical therapist" in unique ways; his eighth-grade teacher, who helped him pass the dreaded test that would ensure his entrance into high school; the baseball/coach/basketball coach/forensics coach/drama coach/algebra teacher/geometry teacher (in small schools such as Wild Rose, Wisconsin's circa 1947, staff members wore many hats.) a dragon slain. "Limping Through Life" has been out for several months and we now know that without that dreadful disease, it is most likely Jerry Apps, the author/historian, would not exist. For him a negative became a positive. Wisconsin history is the better for it. Readers have much to enjoy because of it.
No one who has gone through a debilitating time would wish for it so that it could become fodder for the pen. But in so many instances, as in Mr. Apps case, it becomes just that. And we never think that in helping us, it might help others too.
Kudos to the man who overcame his personal fears to become an advocate for polio sufferers. Thank goodness he had the wherewithal to pursue a vocation that helped increase the manner in which he can pursue that advocacy.
It was good to meet him. To see he's just regular people. Regular people like you, like me. We've all suffered through something. What good might we take from it? Make of it? Food for though.
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